Ship's Night
by Eponymous Rose
Summary: The Freelancers unwind after a successful mission early in the Project.


"See," York said, rolling an empty bottle from hand to hand, "I think the main problem here is that we're just too good at our jobs."

Carolina rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and tipping back in her chair to smother the urge to snatch the damn bottle out of his hands. He'd been playing with it for over an hour. "You heard the Director. The mission could've gone better. Recon was slow getting through the door."

"Yeah, fuck those guys," South called from her perch atop a corner table. She'd been fiddling with wiring in the ceiling for at least half an hour, ostensibly to try and fix the one flickering light fixture, but Carolina was pretty sure she was just trying to disable the shipboard smoke detectors so she could light up without attracting the Director's ire. Last time she'd tried smoking on board, Connie had sweetly suggested she try cracking a window.

North squinted up at his sister; he'd only had two drinks, but he was already looking a little blurred around the edges. "_Recon_ did just fine, thank you very much. Me and Wyoming were thorough, we set trackers, we gave you everyone's positions with pinpoint accuracy. You're welcome."

Everyone glanced at Wyoming for corroboration, but he was slumped in a corner, snoring loudly. Connie, leaning against the wall next to him, shrugged. "I think the Director just wanted something to bitch about," she said, with a drunken boldness that would've been a lot more convincing if she hadn't spent the whole evening nursing half a beer. "We did fine. He just likes to test us."

"Watch it, C.T.," York said in an exaggerated whisper. "Someone might go tattle to him." He held the bottle upright, then spun it so it wobbled noisily. Carolina debated the pros and cons of kicking her team's security specialist in the shin.

These pleasant daydreams were interrupted when the door hissed open behind her. Carolina half-turned in her chair to see Maine stepping into the room—he actually had to duck a little to get through the doorframe—followed by Washington.

"Hey!" York said, and raised his bottle. "New guy! Good job not dying messily out there, new guy. All your guts stayed in and everything."

"Thanks," Wash said, dryly, stepping gingerly over Wyoming's outstretched legs to sit next to Maine at York and Carolina's table. "I did my best to follow your example and run away whenever things got tough."

There was a moment of silence, broken by South's guffaw. "North, you fucker, you owe me. I told you the kid's got a sense of humor."

"Mmh," North said, his face now buried in his arms.

"Yeah," York said, affably enough, going back to rolling the bottle back and forth between his palms. "He's a real comedian."

Carolina elbowed Maine and was rewarded with a faint smile when he turned to face her. "You guys did great," she said. "You work well together."

Maine shrugged. There was a new bruise on his forehead, raw and red. It was probably the only hit he'd taken all day, and it had come from a _tank_. "Can't talk about it."

No past assignments. Right. But it had been hard to ignore the way Wash had set up shots for Maine, clearing out the midrange threats to leave him in the middle of the fray. It went beyond battlefield courtesy: people tended to underestimate Maine's speed, but Wash had been immediately comfortable with the limits of his range. The pair had certainly fascinated the Director, who'd already slated them for a series of two-man missions together. Considering Maine was also scheduled to make a series of runs with Carolina over the next few weeks, the poor guy was going to be awfully busy. Not that he'd complain.

"I, uh. Thought this was a dry ship," Wash said, eyeing North's slumped form.

South snorted. "No such fuckin' thing. Unless Little Miss Girl Scout over there decides to turn us in."

Carolina raised an eyebrow. "Little Miss Girl Scout's got the authority to make your hungover ass run laps until you puke."

"Little Miss Girl Scout can go fuck herself," South said, with no particular vehemence. A spark flickered from the bundle of wiring in her hands, and she jerked back, sucking on her finger. "Ah, fuck."

When Carolina rolled her eyes and looked away, it was to find York squinting at her beneath lowered brows. "Did you do that?" he stage-whispered.

"You're not that drunk."

"I am precisely that drunk." York leaned across the table toward Wash, balancing the mouth of the bottle between his fingers. "Carolina's got the ship on her side," he said, conspiratorially. "Whole thing bends to her will."

"Ship's not the only thing around here that bends to her will," C.T. murmured from the sidelines. Wash glanced around at her, and she raised her cup at him in salute.

"Yes, well," York said. "South's passionate and undying love for Carolina aside-"

"I am gonna puke on everything you love," South said.

"It's actually true," York continued, lowering his voice and leaning toward Wash. Carolina hid a grin as, unconsciously, Wash drew closer in response. "Carolina's one with the ship. Like, spiritually."

"Uh," said Wash.

"Four-Seven's with me on this. Hangar bay computers froze up one day, we're coming in hot, Carolina gets on the horn and all of a sudden everything's working like a well-oiled machine. Damn ship listens to her."

"Okay, York," Carolina said. "That's enough."

"No, no," South said, finally replacing the ceiling fixture, then abandoning the job to crouch on the table. "Tell us more about Carolina's well-oiled machine."

"_All_ right," Carolina said, and flattened both palms on the table. "Party's done. Good work out there, everyone. We'll have a more formal debrief with the Director tomorrow."

South shrugged, casting one last rueful glare at the ceiling, then collared her brother on her way out the door. Connie nudged Wyoming with her toe until he mumbled a sleepy complaint, then sighed and dragged him to his feet with an ease totally at odds with her small stature. "'Night, guys."

"Huh," Wash said, staring around the emptying room. "Guess I missed the action."

Carolina leaned back in her chair. "_You_ have at least a couple of busted ribs, Agent Washington. And an appointment with medical."

Maine looked up sharply, brows furrowing, and Wash blinked. "I'm fine," he said.

"I saw you take the hit. I don't know how they did it in your old unit, but out here we've actually got the luxury of time. Go take something for the pain, get a good night's sleep. You're benched until the doc gives the okay. Don't lie to me again. Got it?"

His face hardened, like he was going to protest, but he only said, "Yes, boss." He made no effort to hide his indrawn breath when he stood, this time, and Maine stood with him.

"You did well out there, Wash," Carolina said, softening her tone. "The Director was impressed. So was I. You don't have anything to worry about."

Wash sighed, but shrugged an acknowledgement of the compliment before limping away, shadowed by Maine.

Carolina exhaled slowly, staring down at her hands, then glanced up to see York still playing with the damn bottle, staring at her through the tinted glass. "Hey," he said. "Glad you weren't too hard on him. Kid's just trying to show he'll last. He has to have heard the stories of all the others who washed out before him." He grinned. "Get it? Washed out? Wash? 'Cause his name's Wash."

Carolina squinted. "I can never tell how drunk you actually are."

"Part of my charm," he said. He definitely wasn't a clumsy drunk, though; his fingers were shifting effortlessly, rolling the bottle end over end, balancing it between two knuckles. Carolina realized a little too late that she was staring, and jerked her gaze back to his face. York grinned, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

"I mean," he said, "if you wanted to be a little hard on _me_, I could probably get behind that."

Carolina rolled her eyes. "You keep running your mouth, York, you might find it's not as much fun as you've been fantasizing."

He actually _waggled his eyebrows_. "Hey, I'm pretty great at running my mouth, too. All over."

She stretched back in her chair, craning her neck to make sure the stragglers were well on their way, then smirked at York.

His smile faltered. "Uh," he said.

Very slowly and deliberately, she reached back and pulled her hair out of its ponytail, combed through the knots and tangles with her fingers. The whole process took maybe five seconds, but in that time York turned at least fifteen different shades of red.

"Uh," he said, again.

"Yeah," she said. "That's what I thought."

The flickering light fixture chose that moment to sputter and die out, plunging the room into darkness. "Mood lighting?" York said. Squeaked.

"Hm," Carolina said, and pushed to her feet. "You coming?"

"Uh," York said, one more time. He was squinting suspiciously at the light fixture. "Yeah. I mean... yeah. Definitely."

Carolina made a mental note to maybe, possibly look into getting some sort of remote control set up so she could mess with the lights on command. For, well, tactical training ops and whatnot. Tactical training ops that might include messing with the team's security specialist. You know. For science.

But York had finally dropped the goddamn bottle, and he was sporting a sort of nervous twist of the lips that was infinitely more honest than his usual easy smile, and hell, maybe that was enough communing with the ship for one night. Carolina dragged him to his feet, and together they wandered through the darkened corridors. It wasn't exactly a moonlit stroll—ship's night was an illusion at best—but for now, it was real enough. For now, it mattered.


End file.
